


The Tale of The Eternities

by GraceEliz



Series: Eternities [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Bruce tells the kids a story, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Stargazing, with a big bit of original stuff in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: Based on Cerusee's 'The Past and Pending' for context.Whilst out on a family bonding stargazing trip, Dick asks Bruce to tell a story like he used to when he or Jay had a nightmare. Bruce tells the story of Aphrodite's search for the answer to the Great Question: how does one kill a god? She learns a lot on the journey and Bruce never tires of the tale.





	1. How does one kill a God?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Past and Pending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568488) by [Cerusee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/pseuds/Cerusee). 



> Thanks to Cerusee. Read the story this was inspired by!  
> For the ‘god for a god’ bit, look up How do you kill a God? on Pinterest of google or whatever. It has Aphrodite, Hera, Zeus, Apollo and finally Hades. (Look for L.H.Z How do you kill a God?)  
> Thanks also to Moffat (one of the duo of Moffat and Gatiss, who most of you will be aware Tumblr has a love/hate relationship with over Sherlock and Doctor Who) who wrote the absolutely cracking Doctor Who episode Heaven Sent which aired all the way back in 2015 (gosh) for the bird diamond mountain bit. It’s an amazing episode.

Bruce decided stargazing was something to do more often. Maybe next family night, they could all do this again. Certainly he’d bear it in mind. Nothing felt better than having his children and surrogate father near him, around him, beside him. Jason was as large as him now, and Dick was so grown up....most of the time.  
“Bruce?”  
Bruce squinted at his eldest son, unable to properly meet Dick’s eyes where he was curled around his father’s head. “Yes, son?”  
“Tell a story, like you used to when I had nightmares. I’m sure you did it for Jay, too,” Dick wriggled down to rest on his father’s shoulder so he could watch Bruce’s face, “so even you should manage not to mess up, emotional minefield that you are and all that.” Bruce smiled up at the stars at his son’s masterful cracking of the tension grown by the request. “Alright. Jay, is that okay?” Bruce really didn’t want to make his secondborn uncomfortable after they’d got so far. Jason nodded, silent. “Hn, what about....” Bruce smiled slightly and began.

 

“Once, a very long time ago, the gods walked the Earth alongside humans. It was a time of peace, prosperity, love. The immortals were haughty and aloof- except for one rather plain goddess. She looked weak and insignificant and the only one who feared her was the King of the Gods- her youngest brother- because she shared her colouring with their father, who was a monster. The young king was deeply dissatisfied with this and set out to get rid of her, to make her retreat into the Underworld, even to ensure her death. He was however faced with one glaringly impossible obstacle: how does one kill a god?

He sent out the most beautiful of his court: Aphrodite, the Last Titan. She was to set the question to the humans, whose ingenuity knew no bounds except the indomitable laws of the universe itself-and even then, only sometimes. How does one kill a god?  
With fire.  
Ice.  
Pain, sorrow, grief.  
Aphrodite knew those answers wouldn’t help her, so she asked others. Old, young, male, female, rich, poor. And she always got the same answers, until one child spoke a great truth: you can’t kill a god, because they are eternal. Stunned by this obvious yet unsuspected truth, Aphrodite went to the God of the Underworld, the King of Death and the Dead. To him she offered this tale, and asked what had come to be known as the Great Question: how does one kill a god?

You can’t, he said after a long time, because we are eternal, unless you have an eternity. Confused, Aphrodite asked for a bit of clarification. The King smiled humourlessly and explained. Gods each have an eternity. Eternities can be given and rejected but not stolen. A god for a god, an immortal for an immortal, an era for an era. If you want to be mortal, you come to me and give up your eternity. It’s painful and you won’t get it back; be wise. If one wants to be immortal they must come to me and ask for an eternity, and be judged. If they are judged worthy then they must have a worthy god or goddess to stand for them. If this is acceptable then and only then will I bestow the eternity. There is one who controls the fires of life, who may bestow and take away without needing me, but she respects her abilities and does nothing without reason and worth. As for murder, well, one cannot steal without repercussion. The punishment for stealing an eternity is eternal punishment, and the return of that god’s eternity. If a god kills another god....both must die. The price of taking an eternity is giving up your own.  
Gods are not exempt from punishment.

Aphrodite swallowed in fear and asked the question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered. How long is an eternity?

The King smiled. Ask the children, the mothers, the fathers. Someone knows the answer. Seek and you shall find. Aphrodite didn’t know if the smile was cruel, or amused, or something else. The King of Death was unreadable.

Upon reaching the surface Aphrodite collapsed at the nearest well, burying her head in her arms and bursting into tears. This was too much to ask. How? How could she answer this when she would be punished for the answer to the Great Question? It sickened her, now. How does one kill a god? Broken-hearted by the knowledge that she would be judged for the answer and likely abandoned by the Olympic Court Aphrodite screamed into the heavens.

A kind woman who lived near the well heard her, and came out. Hush, child, she said, and come into the warmth. Snow is not a good place to cry. Come in. Once in the warm house, Aphrodite was wrapped in a soft woollen blanket and given a bowl of stew. The Goddess of Love and Beauty had never felt this much love in a single woman before, and saw that the woman’s beauty originated in her purity of spirit. After she’d eaten and been told to get a good night’s sleep before telling her story, Aphrodite asked the woman how many children she had. Seven, laughed the woman, though I have borne none myself. Sleep now.  
Aphrodite slept. 

How long is an eternity?

The kind woman smiled as Aphrodite asked this whilst they cleared breakfast away. Well, she said, I’ll tell you a story. 

There is a glass mountain. Its heart is of diamond, and the diamond heart would take an hour to climb and an hour to go around. Every one thousand years, a tiny bird- a robin- sharpens his beak on the mountain. When the glass is all gone, he starts on the diamond. Once in every thousand years the robin sharpens his beak, whispering words we cannot understand, and flies away. It takes longer than we can comprehend, but the mountain is worn away. When it is gone, the first second of eternity will have passed. That is why gods can’t die, child. An eternity is just too valuable for its theft to be unpunished.

Valuable? asked Aphrodite. Why valuable?

The woman’s eyes glinted in the lancing sunlight. Because of what you can achieve when you do it right, and the love that can carry you through anything.  
Aphrodite frowned, and the woman left her to think.

So, reasoned Aphrodite, an eternity must be paid for, as all life, because all life is precious, and we can do so much good with an eternity. Okay. Gods cannot die because we would pay with our own lives, and be extinguished, and it’s so hard to kill a god I doubt anyone but Hades himself understands exactly how to do it. It’s certainly an effective deterrent. 

There was one thing left that she did not understand: Why? Why did the robin return to his thankless task? Imagine Aphrodite’s surprise when a young voice answered her: the robin did it for love.

Aphrodite yelped, and leapt to her feet. She saw a young child standing in the doorway, and frowned. Love? she asked, and beckoned the child in. What do you mean by that?

Well, reasoned the child who was no more than ten, mum always says that she’d return to the mountain for eternity if it was for us. She says that in the centre of the mountain there was a tiny hollow, and in that hollow was the robin’s egg. Mum says that the robin knew that was all he had left of his lady robin, and that he would do anything to get to his egg because he’d loved his lady. She says that a father’s love is as strong but less violent than a mother’s love. We don’t have a dad, but mum would tear apart anyone who tried to hurt us. She says the robin survived eternity because he loved his egg and was determined to have his family again. I think love’s the only think that can beat an eternity. 

Aphrodite was again stunned. She thought vaguely that she’d been shocked, surprised and confused more in the last few months than ever before. Love? Gods cannot die...but love can triumph over an eternity. I need to think about this, she said, so I’m going for a walk. The child smiled and told her to be back by sundown for the evening meal.

Aphrodite walked for miles, until she came across a temple dedicated to her. Entering, she saw that the only person present was an old, old man. Settling onto the bench beside him, she asked if he would share his wisdom with her on the matter. The old man nodded, and told her to tell her story. She did, pouring it out and venting the pent up emotions she carried. After a long while, she finished, and cried out through her tight throat and messy tears: what does it all mean?

The man was quiet as she panted and drew herself together again. When she had regained her composure the man gently said that perhaps what she should take away from this is a few simple truths: first, gods cannot die unless their killer dies to pay the price; second, that eternity is a very long time indeed; and third, that love makes the eternities borne by gods a lot easier to survive. Maybe, he said, that is what you should tell the King of the Gods. He stroked the hair from Aphrodite’s face and said, be strong, for you are one of the goddesses with the most power, and it will be easy for you to lose sight of the truths of the universe. Aphrodite smiled with hope for the first time in months as the man left her in the small temple. Perhaps the woman in the village was right, and anything could be carried by love.”  
Bruce fell silent, and knew his boys- and girls, for they’d drawn close during his narrative- were thinking this over. He thought on that story a lot when he was down or worried because it reminded him of the strength of his love for his own children, his Robins, his everythings. Pressing his lips to Dick’s dark curls, Bruce closed his eyes and thanked God for the gifts of his children just as he knew Alfred did daily. They were quiet and at peace and Bruce wanted it to last forever.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story kinda grew, sorry. This is just fluff. Batfam fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold! An update!

Everyone knew Bruce Wayne hated his kids to be ill, or sick. It was more obvious these days than ever before, and the generally accepted reason was that between his kids and counselling he was now able to remember Jason with less agony, and be more like Brucie Wayne from before the terrible loss of his boy. It was the very astute who noticed that when Bruce was in a bad way it was usually because his kids were. Of course, nobody with kids of their own begrudged him that. Society had relaxed a little in the last decade and it was now seen as very bad form to be a noticeably bad parent. It likely helped that Bruce Wayne was a vehement supporter of hands-on parenting- as he said in an interview recently, “I regret nothing more than allowing grief and my own instabilities to come between my children and I.” People followed their Crown Prince.

Tonight’s Father and Daughter Gala would only see Wayne and his daughter present for a few hours, whispered one father to his teen, because the oldest had another accident teaching gymnastics to the youngest. Another young woman said that Miss Wayne was too unapproachable, but her sister scolded her for ignoring the fact that the young woman had a terrible upbringing pre-Bruce and so she was allowed to be reticent in making new friends.   
Cass leant nearer to Bruce. All these people were so empty, and she hated the mask Bruce put on for them. He wasn’t Dad, not like this. Even Batman was more actual-Bruce than Brucie Wayne and all of the Waynes (official and otherwise) agreed his ability to switch between them was even scarier than the Bat himself on a bad night. As Jason said, it would creep Two-face himself out. Dick slapped him on the back of the head at Steph’s request for that. They never said that exactly to Bruce’s face, but he knew the sentiments existed.

“Ready to leave, Cassie?” Bruce murmured. “We don’t need to stay much longer, so let’s dance a little to fill in the time.” Cass nodded in agreement, because Bruce was a wonderful dance partner and he couldn’t mask it, because Bruce and Brucie danced the same. In dance, he was always Dad.  
A few foxtrots and a rumba later, Bruce handed Cass into the car and relaxed into his seat. “I’m glad that’s over with, Alfie. How are the boys?” Alfred smiled to himself at his son’s concern. He had a heart larger even than his bank balance.

“Master Damian has been assured repeatedly it was not his fault, although he will want to hear it from you too. Master Dick and Master Jason were arguing over literature when I left, due to a disparaging remark about The Scarlet Pimpernel. Master Tim was administered a sedative at nine o’clock and is safely in bed.”   
Cass tapped Bruce’s temple from where she was tucked under his strong, safe arm. “Worrier.” Bruce smiled, because even he couldn’t deny that. He held Cass closer, and smiled at Alfred in the rear-view mirror.

“DAD! I’M BEING MERCILESSLY ATTACKED!!!” Dick’s yell echoed through the hall almost before the door stopped closing behind them. Cass smirked, and ran up the stairs to change before she joined in whatever the fray was about. It was one of the many ‘Rules of Inter-Sibling Combat’ that Dick and Tim had drawn up a long while ago, which had more revisions than most dictionaries and an Annual General Meeting, which Bruce presided over and Alfred refereed. Potential new additions to the Wayne Family Serious Dating Annals (fondly maintained by Dick since he reached sixteen a decade ago, and not to be confused with the Wayne Family Casual Dating Annals, which are totally different) usually chickened out then if they’d lasted, usually intimidated the fact that ‘The Rules’ had gone from an old exercise book to a three volume leather-bound set (the Complete Dating Annals had four and a half volumes, because Dick always counted Bruce’s dates too) in Bruce’s study. Bruce smiled, and sauntered into the Library to be met with the sight of Jason sitting on Dick’s legs whilst Damian perched aloof on Bruce’s (and therefore almost everyone else’s) favourite red leather wingback chair. 

“What exactly did you say, Dick?” Bruce’s amusement was audible. Loosening his bow tie, he dropped into the chair Damian had just vacated and pulled his youngest into his lap. No-one really fought if Bruce wanted a hug, because they weren’t really all that common. Jason snorted. “Dick made derogatory comments about Jane Seymour and the 1939 version of The Scarlet Pimpernel-” Damian nodded gravely in agreement- “and also disrespected the noble sport of fencing.” Bruce gave Dick a reproachful look, at which Dick groaned in the knowledge of a case lost.

Shaking his head dramatically, Bruce bemoaned, “I can’t believe my own son, my eldest son, is capable of such heresy! Inconceivable! How is this to be remedied?” Damian was smiling by now, so Dick and Jason rolled with the situation and acted up. Jason mimed a heart attack, clutching his chest and crying out, “Oh, worthless sibling! I move that he be banished from tonights sleepover in Bruce’s bed!” as he winked at Damian, who giggled. Dick appeared genuinely alarmed by the claim.  
“You can’t exile me from B’s bed! Especially when I didn’t know we were planning to pile in there tonight, that’s just nasty.” Damian appeared too amused to have a side. Bruce turned to him as his eldest two wrestled playfully-“Mind Dick’s arm!”- on the couch. He pressed his cheek to his baby’s hair. “Well, Dami? Is Dick allowed in the bed after all those snide comments?” Damian considered, and announced rather gravely:

“Grayson may be in the bed, but he is not to get first pick of sleeping place.”   
Jason nodded in agreement; Dick sighed, but acquiesced. Smiling at his sons Bruce stood and announced, “Since you have all apparently decided to sleep in my bed tonight, I’ll go find Cass.” As he strode down the hall towards the kitchen where he knew she’d be, he heard one of them mutter about Cass being “the favourite child, gets away with all sorts.” Children are a blessing, he decided, and I love them with all my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Annals are my own invention but the Scarlet Pimpernel things are not mine. I think they're Cerusee's but it was a while ago when I last read the fic. If you recognise it let me know.


	3. The Man who Rembered the Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tells another story, but this one is much sadder.

As Bruce changed, he did a mental headcount. Duke was away for the weekend with the Kents in England, visiting universities to take pictures for a project, Steph was back at her apartment on the Uni campus, and Tim was snoring quietly in his bed. That left Dick, Jason, Cass and Damian. Dick would probably be in at any moment to attempt to sneak his favourite position, which was curled over Bruce’s head and shoulders ‘like a cat, but quite a lot larger'. Dick held that since he’d grown out of sleeping on top of Bruce, having been replaced by Damian, he should be allowed to sleep on the pillows. Damian’s punishment wasn’t really a punishment since no-one else slept like that. Frankly Bruce thought it too cute to argue. Damian had just opened the door, and was trying to close it again without being noticed. Bruce turned around after closing his en-suite door to see Damian dive off the headboard into the mound of quilt he’d built- despite his demeanour he was still only a child. After copious wriggling he stuck his head up to see his father smiling down at him and announced, “The amount of sentiment you show when we do anything at all is ridiculous. Keep doing it.”

“Aw, Little D, you’re so cute!”

“Grayson, as per the rules, you may only get in when everyone else has. It’s in the Rules.”  
Bruce grinned at Dick’s pretended glum expression and shook out the quilt, letting Damian scramble back onto the headboard before he settle in. “Dick, the Rules are a family thing, remember? You-Damian, must you dig in your chin?- you signed like the rest of us. Cass, you beat Jason. Come on in.” Cass smiled and threw herself beside Damian, who was mostly on top of Bruce and was really an excellent sleepy snuggler. Jason stuck his tongue out at Dick as he entered and claimed his usual spot, pressed against Bruce’s right side. He’d once told Bruce after a nightmare that he always felt safe, no matter the fact he was the same size as Bruce now. Bruce was quietly ecstatic. 

“Grayson, you may enter the bed.”

Once they were in, it was Cass who piped up with, “A story, Dad.” Smiling, Bruce thought about what to say. The Aphrodite story he’d told last week had stuck in their minds and he’d told it a few times since to various children, so he decided on one that was linked to it.

“This is the story of a man who loved his sons, and remembered the story about the little bird and the diamond mountain.  
There lived a man with two sons. He was rich, and his sons and aged father wanted for nothing- except perhaps adventure. The older son was a strong and brave peacekeeper, and the younger son a lover of words and arts. However, many evil men hated the rich and just father and attacked the children several times to get revenge for imagined wrongs. The father managed to keep them both safe, until one day the younger was trapped by them. The father tracked him down, but was too late.  
His son was killed.

Wrecked by grief the father took his son’s body home for burial, and sank into depression. His oldest son was frightened by his father’s sorrow and tried his best to provide comfort. The father loved his oldest- and now his only- son more than anything he had left and tried to find a way to get his son back. After a season of searching he finally decided: he would do as Orpheus had, but he’d succeed. He’d bring his boy home and their tiny family would be reunited.  
He went to a young goddess who walked among the humans as a protector and peacekeeper. He told her what he wanted, but she didn’t know how to enter the underworld. However, she told him, Aphrodite does. I will protect you father and son, and you shall go to her. The father thanked her and left for Aphrodite’s temple of residence- one of his mother’s favourite haunts. Entering, he recalled the tale of the robin and the glass mountain. His parents had always told him that they loved him as much as the robin loved his egg in the diamond mountain.

He knew he’d wait an eternity to reunite his family. 

Aphrodite listened to his grief and led him wordlessly to the cave that to the Underworld. As the father prepared his mind, she spoke. You are a man who loves greatly and that is why I help you now. You are like the bird.

Strengthened, the man ventured into the Underworld towards the first challenge: Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound.

Aphrodite had left him with a satchel. Opening it, he found a red ball, a large golden coin, and a plentiful supply of food. Smirking the father realised that she wanted him to succeed and was willing to help him. The father threw the ball towards the hellhound, who whirled after it snarling and snapping in anger. Taking the chance the father dodged through the gate, and was in the Underworld.

The Underworld was like graveyards in moonlight. It wasn’t dark, not properly, but there was no real light there either. The father screwed up his courage, and ventured down into the swirling silver mist.

After a time- who knows how long?- he came to a milling crowd of souls. Empty, vacant, the souls would occasionally display flashes of distress, of pain, of anger. The father realised that this must be the crossing point of the Acheron, where the ferryman took the souls into the underworld. He pushed his way to the front to wait.  
What is a living man doing here? asked the ferryman. I want my son, responded the father as he offered up the golden coin. The ferryman was silent for many minutes. 

Come, he said, you may enter the halls to tell the King your story.

The palace of the King of the Underworld is a beautiful construction of marble and onyx, shrouded in mist and fog. Shades flicker between columns, and walking through one feels like drowning. An armoured shade, dark as only the void is, led the father into the great hall where the King judged the dead. He stopped in surprise, for the King was a man of extraordinary beauty and his eyes were bluer than anything he’d ever seen and they pierced the soul, weighing and judging. 

What will you do for your sons? asked the King, and how willing are you to do it? The father steadied himself and replied, I will do anything for my sons. I will give them everything I have and walk through the rivers if I must. They are everything to me. 

The King sat and stared into the father’s soul, and saw that he meant it. 

Very well- you must complete many challenges to retrieve your son, but remember that no man has ever succeeded before. 

The father released the breath he hadn’t known he held. Anything, he said fervently. The King held out his hand, and in front of the father appeared a long white string. Find your son’s soul, said the King, and tie him to you with this string. You have three days to do it. It is dark now -the Father realised it had become black as pitch where the torches didn’t reach- but the sun rises in five hours. You will have three days from then. Sleep now, but do not eat of our tables. Aphrodite gave you food. Go. The shades will take you to a room.

The father knew he was dismissed and followed the shade to a large room with a large bed and very little else. He fell onto the silken sheets and slept. 

He awoke as the room became light- not as the sun would make light but more like an inner room would be lightened by the sun. He looked at the string wrapped around his wrist and knew he could find his son, just as the little bird spent the first second of eternity grinding down the mountain to get to his son.

The Plains of Lethe were filled with milling shades, and for a moment the father couldn’t imagine how he would succeed. But he remembered the bird, and set forth. For two days he walked and sought the soul of his son. It was nearing the sunset, and he was fighting the rising panic. But- there! That was him! My son, he breathed, my son....

Reaching the shade, he pushed his hand through where the heart would lie. Met with a flash of feeling- warm love safe dad- he sobbed in relief and tied the string around the shade’s incorporeal chest. The shade drifted behind the father as he trudged up the hill too the King’s palace.

Well done, said the King quietly, but it’s not done. Now you need to find his life-thread and braid the white one I gave you into it. Your son will be safe here. Untie the thread from around your wrist and follow the dark-shade to the Hall of Threads.

The father slowly untied the knot, put his hand to the shade’s cheek and imagined sending his son his love. The shade stilled a moment and the father followed the dark-shade to the Hall of Threads. Entering, he gasped and exclaimed in horror, there are too many threads! The dark-shade bowed his head and murmured that the dead outnumber the living. 

The father began to search. He ran his fingers along the threads, opened himself up, waited to feel anything. After many hours he felt near tears. Nothing. None of the threads spoke to him, none felt familiar, none could help him find the thread he needed. He was bitterly alone and there was nothing.”

“That’s awful!” Bruce was startled out of the tale by Dick’s vehement exclamation, and was surprised by the distress in his voice. “The father would do anything, why couldn’t the King just summon the son’s life-thread?” 

Bruce stroked his son’s hair and held Jason and Cass in his arms tighter as he gently answered, “Because the father had to prove his claim. He said he’d do anything, so the King told him what he needed to do. Just as the bird went back to the mountain every one thousand years to get to his egg, the father would have searched and searched for his sons. It’s a labour of love, Dick.”  
There was a distraught silence, until Cass nudged him and whispered to finish the story. 

“The father fell to his knees and sobbed. Son, forgive me, for have failed you again, I’m sorry, so so sorry.....  
Dad. A whisper.  
Dad...  
The father was still as he begged whoever answered prayer to let him hear it again. Let it not be his desperate imagination.  
Dad...  
Son? he called. Son, I’m here! He ran his fingers over all the threads near him and leapt to his feet. I’m here, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’ve....son!

He had found the thread!

Dad, Dad, he heard, Dad I love youI’msorrywefoughtIloveyouIwanttogohome! The father sobbed that they would and wrapped the thread around his wrist and he carefully disentangled it.

The King nodded at him when he returned to the judging hall, the thread now quiet. Wrap the red thread round the white one, he said gently, and then I will bind them together and return your son to you.

The father did so, breathless with the hope that soon, soon, they’d be united. Father and sons and grandfather. The red thread pulsed as it was twisted around the white, and the white shone brighter than anything the father had ever seen. Finally it was done and the King rose from his throne and took hold of the threads. He ran them through his hands, whispering words of a language that sounded ancient to the father’s ears, and like nothing he’d heard even in his travels as an unstable youth. The threads were becoming one, and glowing, and the father knew his son was almost returned. The shade of his son drew near and was sucked into the thread. The King spoke louder and faster now, and the father stepped back as he felt magic thrum in the air. A bright flash, a noise like thunder, roaring like that of wildfire-

His son.

His son.

His son! The father threw himself to his knees, hands dancing over the body of his son, just as he was before he died. The injuries were sickening but he knew without having to ask that his son would recover. The father looked up to the King who stood watching nearby and choked out his thanks through his tears. The King smiled sadly, looking suddenly as ancient as the world itself. He nodded and retreated to his throne as the son began to wake.  
Father? Dad? Dad, it’s you, Dad, Dad......

The father had never felt this much gratitude before.

They were together again and all would be well. The family would be together again.” 

Bruce stopped there, unable to finish the story. Cass was staring at him in concern, knowing that the story wasn’t over in the way only she could know things. Bruce ran his hand over her hair. Damian pressed himself impossibly closer to his father’s chest, and Jason and Dick were silent.  
Jason was watching Bruce’s face. “It’s not over, is it? Dad, what happens to them?” Jason always knew when Bruce had stopped a story because it was painful and not because it was the end. He was the only one who could hear it in Bruce’s voice no matter how well he tried to hide it. The shaking breath Bruce took in told his sons that Jason was right, and the stillness in the air became sadness.

“The- the father was told that he could carry his son out of the underworld the way he came in. The ferryman would take them across the Acheron and Cerberus would let them through. However, when the father picked up his son, the boy cried out.” Bruce screwed his eyes closed and focused on the fact he could hear his sons and daughter breathing. “The King’s attention snapped to them with terrifying intensity, but the father saw nothing beyond the fact that his son was fading out of his arms. He fell to his knees, desperately trying to keep his hold. The King knelt on the boys other side, magic thrumming in black tendrils as he fought for the boy’s life. Circe, he snarled, this is Circe’s magic. It’s alright, child, be still....the King’s magic drifted over the boy and he stilled into sleep. Hold him, ordered the King, hold him with all the love in your heart. The father held.

The realm darkened, lightened. A day the King had fought the magic trying to steal the son’s life away, and as the Underworld brightened he lost the fight.

The son faded to nothing.

The father screamed out his pain, curling around the gaping chasm in his soul.  
Gone.  
Gone.  
He’d lost his son again.

The King placed his hand on the father’s shoulder when the sobs had faded, after a very long time. There are no words, said the King, I know. I lost my daughters to Circe a long time ago, but she is an immortal and the most magical of us all. I locked your son’s mind away, so that when I find him again he will not have received pain. I will find him.

The father locked his eyes onto the King’s and believed him.

The dark-shade will take you up to the surface. Hold your breath. 

The father closed his eyes and was lost to the pain in his heart. When he opened the, he found that he was near his home. His older son was running to him, angry and afraid. Where were you? he demanded, I could have helped you! I wanted to- Dad? What- where....

The young man read in his father’s eyes that whatever had happened, his brother was still gone. 

His baby brother was still dead.

The boy threw himself into his father’s arms and they broke together.”

Damian had buried his face into Bruce’s neck and was clinging with all his young heart. Dick reached down and twisted his hand into Jason’s, too choked up to speak. Bruce’s pain was almost audible, and Cass made a pained noise when she saw the tear drip from her father’s temple. She burrowed closer and swore never to die and cause Bruce pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm using the story Bruce tells here to express what I have as one of my headcanons: that if he could have gone to the underworld and got Jason's soul back then nothing would have stopped him. Timing wise, Jason disappearing from Bruce's arms is when he is resurrected and digs himself out of his own grave.  
> Sometimes I hate myself.
> 
> 12/10  
> *sees an error whilst re-reading and fixes it whilst promising an update soon*

**Author's Note:**

> There's another chapter to come, it just needs writing up. Warning though, I'm 98% certain it's going to be sad. If it isn't then it's not written properly.  
> And, somebody please TELL ME HOW TO PUT ITALICS IN because I can't and I'm beginning to grow annoyed.


End file.
